Fallen Saint
by BrotherCaptainAndromidius
Summary: Tereskor Herbantius, a peaceful world of the Imperium. Now a hidden threat rises from the corrupt core of this proud planet, and only a choice handful of warriors and servants of the Imperium have a chance of combating it- let alone defeating it.
1. Beginnings

Chapter 1 - Beginnings  
  
Mikael Gabriel Rakash shivered. He pulled his worn brown trench coat around himself in an effort to preserve body heat, to little avail. This world was as cold to him as his own would be unbearably hot to a local.  
Pulling his pouch of tobacco out of his pocket, he began rolling up a small cigarette. Though told how bad they were for his health, Rakash hardly cared. He doubted any of the medicae staff were as fit as him, a product of one of the most dangerous worlds in the galaxy.  
Yes, this world was definitely very alien to him- despite seeing many of its like during his long life as a soldier. Referred to as a civilised world by Imperial records, which basically meant it was rife with corruption in Rakash's books, this was a planet of massive sky scrapers and grey hazy air.  
Take any of the worlds he'd been to and chances are most of the 'civilised' ones were where they were fighting local rebels or heretics. On more feral worlds, such as his own planet, and you found a devout and pure population. True, he'd fought his fair share on those sorts of worlds as well- but at least it wasn't Imperial subjects causing the problems.  
Yes, civilisation didn't appeal to Rakash at all. It had its pleasures, sure, but more often then not it wasn't worth it. Give him a primitive little village to rest and relax in any day.  
Lighting his cigarette and taking a drag, Rakash gave a breath of satisfaction as his chest was warmed from the inside. Not the best of brands, but decent enough. He'd have to get some of the better stuff off of Jukata next time they crossed paths. He always had the best of everything, though at less then best prices.  
Rakash, though short compared to many of his own regiment, was a tall and gaunt man. Thin yet wiry, he was a lot tougher then he seemed at first glance- even when unarmed. With any of the weapons hidden about his body he was a killing machine. His prized brace of Bolt pistols, his antiquated Chainsword, his collection of various knives- all were pure death in his hands.  
Over his standard guard-issue combat fatigues Rakash wore his old and battered trench coat, which instantly singled him out from the others of his regiment. He wore his gun holsters, webbing, knife sheaths, grenade pouches and plenty more besides under his coat. His sword was hidden down his back, the hilt face downwards to avoid detection and damage to the coat when drawn quickly.  
A smile formed across his ebony face, an ugly expression to say the least. Not that he meant it to be so, as he was a good man at heart. The massive scar tissue the knitted across his head, most notably the massive gash caving down from his forehead to his left cheek, did that. The metal patch bolted to his left eye didn't help either, nor the acid burns across his skull which rendered him bald. Fully aware that the smile unnerved many of the people he meet and knew, Rakash rarely smiled. But now, alone, he smiled for the sake of smiling. He was alive, and despite the cold fairly comfortable. Things could be a lot worse.  
  
* * *  
  
Niri Heslin walked slowly down the well lit tunnel that adjoined towers 234 and 235. She was in no rush, and anyway walking quickly hurt her legs. Not that they didn't ache slightly from her hard day of work anyway, but adding to the discomfort wasn't top on her to do list. Besides, there was a nice view from the tunnel. At least, nice holo-vids of outside.  
There weren't many people around, not surprising since it was so early in the morning. That was the trouble with working such long hours at the administrium offices. But the pay was good, and the work manageable. On this planet such work was a goldmine of opportunity. Any work that wasn't in the pits was.  
She approached the check-point, and was waved through by the pair of guards who manned the desk. She knew them both fairly well, and they'd stopped checking her pass-card months before.  
She smiled at one of them as she passed by, a younger trooper called Jerim, who smiled back.  
"Save journey, Niri," he called after her. Turning back, she waved friendlily. There was a little chemistry between the two of them, or so Niri liked to think. He seemed interested enough; though she'd yet to meet him out of uniform.  
She'd be fine. Nothing bad ever happened here.  
  
* * *  
  
This wouldn't do. This wouldn't do it all.  
"I ordered a room with a view, and I expect a room with a view!"  
"Yes, sir." the porter stammered, looking up nervously at the much larger man standing before him, "each of the windows shows a variety of views from around this and many other planets."  
"I didn't ask for view-screens, now did I? When I say a view, I mean a real view."  
"I'm sorry sir, but there are no apartments with direct views of the outside on this level, or any other levels up until level 200."  
"Excuses, excuses." the man suddenly grinned broadly, showing off his pearly white teeth. He pulled out a handful of thin plastic cards and pushed them into the porter's hands.  
"Sir.?"  
"For the room, and for the comedy," Captain Odo Thor said with a swift wink, suddenly grabbing the startled man by the shoulders and spinning him around and out the door. Slamming the door behind him, Thor laughed raucously before inspecting the room.  
As a one man barracks went, it was half decent.  
  
* * *  
  
"Off-world barbarian dog soldiers," snorted the Lieutenant, a short and plump man in his early twenties.  
"Indeed," the Marshall- an elderly, solidly built and overweight man who wore his medals and faint facial scars in equal honour- replied curtly as he glanced down at the report file his aid had just handed him, "however they are war veterans, heroes. We must treat them as honoured guests until their shore leave is over."  
"Half a month of them?" the Lieutenant snorted, disgust obvious in his eyes.  
"Yes, that's what the report you just gave me says."  
"But sir, surely it would be better to house them in the common barracks with the other troops garrisoned here."  
The Marshall glanced up, left eyebrow soaring almost above his forehead . The Lieutenant suddenly and very wisely snapped his mouth firmly shut.  
"No, Mr Herdish, we shall not. We can't give ourselves a bad name by mistreating such.esteemed warriors."  
The Lieutenant smiled thinly as he heard the Marshall's last words, strained as they were. He then realised the Marshall's predicament- putting up with savages in the name of giving themselves a better image. Political power, public support. Although these things meant little to Lieutenant Herdish, being on the good side of a person who those things did mean a lot to did.  
"I understand completely now, Lord Marshall. I apologize. I shall see that all courtesies are extended to our honoured war heroes, sir."  
The Marshall smiled thinly and nodded. Smiling brightly now, Herdish saluted smartly and span on his heel as he left the office.  
  
* * *  
  
"Well ain't this something?"  
The troopers looked around the apartment, a mix of awe and disbelief on their faces. This room, indeed set of rooms, was large enough to house dozens of troopers in regular barracks conditions. They were putting five in here. Extra beds had been brought in here, from the look of the marks left on the carpet from rearranging, suggesting that only one or two people would of lived in a place like this. To these five men, such luxury was almost unbelievable.  
"You sure they ain't screwed things up, put us in the wrong place?" one of them said as he glanced around the place.  
"Probably," another said, dumping his pack on one of the beds, "even so, I'm making the best of this."  
"War heroes, that's what we are," a third laughed, "damn, but this is gunna be a nice break from the norm."  
"We never got this before," said the fourth, the largest man out of the group, "nope, we were just shifted off to the next warzone, then the next, and the next."  
The other four troopers looked up at him interestedly. They were all fairly new to the regiment, only serving for about five years each. This soldier, a Sergeant from his rank pins, was much older then them- a true veteran. When veterans spoke, people listened.  
"Nope, we ain't never had good treatment at all, not since when I was a trooper myself all those years back."  
"Never, 'sarg?" the first trooper asked, dumping his gear on another bed and sitting down to listen.  
"Nope. We've been treated like nothin' for as long as I know, and that goes back a fair way. Wonder what's happened to change that."  
Sergeant Jack Barnes stood there, in the doorway, thinking hard. Not the most bright of men, indeed counted among the least by some, old Sergeant Barnes wasn't much of a thinker. Didn't think much for thinking in actual fact, but then and there he tried his damnedest.  
Standing well over seven foot eight inches, Barnes was a monster of a man. Massive muscles dominated his body, his vest tight to bursting point from it. Sandy blond haired, cut short with a red bandana around his forehead, Barnes was often the brunt of jokes about his intelligence. He cared nothing for the jokes, and even laughed along with them, but no-one doubted his skills as a squad combat leader or soldier. Even in his middle age Barnes was among the fittest and strongest in the regiment, though many claimed this was due to the fact he ate twice as much as anyone else in the regiment. Even though this is in fact true, no-one truly begrudged him for it. Having Barnes next to you in battle was a blessing. All that into account, old Jack was also an amazing card player and always had good- if simple- advice to offer.  
"Maybe they think we've earned it this time?"  
"Maybe.maybe." Barnes murmured quietly as he moved to claim his own bed, "or maybe somethin' else."  
  
* * *  
  
Home at last.  
It was nearly an hour before sunrise before Niri was inside her apartment and had the door closed behind herself. An hour before the morning rush, where all the common workers went to work. Niri had experienced the horrors of the pits, if at a distance. She used to work as a clerk in the offices overhanging one of the giant craters that the great city of Vastol was built over, back when she first started work. She'd been lucky, spotted by an administrium official who was going over mining documents who had noticed her hard work. She'd been transferred to Administrium Head Office of this planet, Tereskor Herbantius, where she'd worked for the past year or so. She, as she had done many times before, whispered a quick thanks to the Emperor for this early chance in life to make something of herself.  
But now she was tired, and despite the excellence of her job it was still draining. She made a mental reminder to use up some of her R&R credits soon, for a little break to unwind and relax. She was due it, and her superiors knew it. She could almost taste the promise of promotion. Under Supervisor Heslin. Yes, she liked the sound of that.  
Humming a little tune, she went into the kitchen and pulled a ready made meal out of the preserver unit. Cold, true, but it was all she really had time for. Tucking in, she switched on the vox-transmitter as she walked out of the kitchen and to her comfortable couch. News was the same old same: everything is fine, do not panic, everything is under control. It was almost laughable, though Niri was thankful that there was nothing going on. Nothing ever happened here, bar the odd slump in ore refining or the occasional death of some old government official. Nothing to worry about at all.  
Then came the music, a soft melody composed by someone hundreds of years ago, which she let wash over her like a warm breeze. Despite the fact the people who wrote and performed the song were long dead, it wasn't bad.  
She smiled, enjoying the taste of the food and the sound of the music, and let her eyes slowly close.  
  
* * *  
  
"Good evening."  
Rakash looked around towards the person who had addressed him. In the gloom, he couldn't see much, but he could see a figure walking towards him.  
"Hello," he replied, watching as the figure took form. A fairly average looking trooper from the Planetary Guard stepped forwards, and shone his flashlight in Rakash's general direction- making sure not to blind him while doing so. His uniform was a pale blue, almost grey, and his beret was navy blue. He had a standard pattern lasrifle slung over his right shoulder, casually. Rakash was quick to notice that the uniform wasn't flexible at all, and he had no webbing with which to hold additional ammo or equipment. The lasrifle didn't look used at all either.  
That's PDF for you- totally green.  
"May I ask what you're doing up here at this time of the morning?" the trooper asked, a bored look in his red rimmed eyes. Obviously looking for something to waste his time with until it was the end of his shift.  
Rakash smiled grimly and presented his cigarette, which he then took a quick puff of. The trooper nodded in understanding, being thankful that at least one of the off-worlders knew that smoking indoors was against the rules. This being resolved, Rakash turned away from him and continued to smoke. However the trooper didn't seem to want to leave in such a hurry.  
"So you're an off worlder?"  
Rakash grimaced at the idiotic question. Somehow the snotty tone of this trooper's voice made it sound a lot dumber then it actually was.  
"Yes, I am."  
"How far are you from home?"  
More questions.  
"A long way away."  
"Must be difficult. I wouldn't be able to cope with it, being away from your family and all that."  
Rakash spun around to look at the trooper, a very grim and very ugly look on his face.  
"If you truly want to know how difficult it is, try signing up after losing all your loved ones and battle across half the galaxy fighting hundreds of battles on dozens of worlds for most of your life without getting any true thanks for it until right at the end some high and mighty Governor or General decides that he wants to get a bit more public support by throwing a little charity at some poor barbarian dog soldiers, and then have to put up with repeatedly stupid questions from a toy soldier when you're trying to have a simple cigarette in peace."  
There was a long pause between the two of them, and the trooper seemed to shrink slightly in front of the seasoned warrior who glowered down at him. He then perked up, and quickly un-slung his rifle and aimed it at Rakash.  
"I don't like your tone. I'm going to escort you off the roof, right now. It's off limits to non-authorised personal."  
Rakash started at him down the barrel of the gun. He then laughed, a deep and dirty noise that shivered the trooper's spine.  
"Point that at someone else, trooper." Rakash turned around from him again, and took another drag off his cigarette. He wasn't at all surprised when he felt the mussel of the rifle press into his back.  
"I'm warning you."  
"Big mistake," Rakash stated calmly.  
Spinning as fast as lightning, Rakash had turned around faster then the trooper could see. Grabbing the barrel of the rifle, he pulled it forwards and then thrust it back into the man's chest. Gasping out in pain, he fell backwards onto the ground with a loud thud. Rakash, again almost to fast to see, ripped out the ammo cartridge and tossed it and the lasrifle in opposite directions. The trooper was beginning to scramble to his feet, grasping around for another weapon that he clearly didn't have. Realising this, he cried out for help.  
Before any came, he was met with a cold hard light in the face. An object was pushed into his face, a piece of cloth with something sawn on it.  
Colonel's tags.  
"Oh.oh."  
The piece of cloth disappeared into Rakash's pocket once more, and the lamp pack was tossed aside.  
"Next time, check who you're picking a fight with, trooper."  
Rakash tossed the end of his cigarette at the dazed trooper and stormed off. His bad temper was sated for a while.  
  
* * *  
  
The man walked down the tunnel between towers 234 and 235, silent and lightly footed. The two troopers barely noticed him as he approached the checkpoint, who quickly moved to check his pass-card.  
"A bit late to be out, isn't it sir?" Trooper Jerim said, trying to sound cheerful. Truth was he was fit to drop. The man looked up at him and smiled an innocent and instantly forgettable smile.  
"Yes, yes it is."  
His voice was audible, but felt like it was never spoken, as if he'd never actually spoken at all but implanted the words directly into their brains. Confused, Jerim quickly passed the man's card to Corporal Grieves. The older soldier flashed it through the scanner, and nodded.  
"Sorry to hold you up, Mr Fenison," he said as he handed the card back. Fenison smiled and nodded politely as he continued on his way.  
Several minutes after his passing, Jerim broke the silence between the two of them  
"Did that strike you as odd?"  
"What did?" Grieves replied, looking up from the desk.  
Jerim paused for a moment, then shook his head.  
"Nothing.nothing's odd. Everything's fine."  
  
* * *  
  
The massive man sat quietly in the corner, knees to his chin and arms around his legs, rocking slowly back and forth. His long and straggly blonde hair was down across his face, obscuring his features. He whimpered quietly to himself. Inner torment reeked through his mind, gnawing at his sanity like a pack of rats slowly but surely striping a carcass bare. He would never be the same, never like he was before.then.  
No.no.best not to drudge into that past, nor any of his many pasts. No, best to focus on the now and when. Looking up, he found little comfort. The walls of plaster seemed to cage him in like a wild beast, slowly dimming his natural instinct and sending him insane. Letting his head drop once more, he began to cry soft but hard tears.  
Don't you see? It is hopeless.  
"Go away." he whispered hoarsely. The voice's harsh and ghostly cackle river betted in his mind, causing immense pain. Gritting his teeth, the man bore it stubbornly and refused to give it. Blood began to slowly drip out of his mouth and nose.  
Your soul shall be mine, Marnier Candiver, even if it takes ten thousand years of torture.  
  
* * *  
  
The water was hot, but not too hot. Perfect, in fact.  
Miri slipped into the tub, and sighed as her weary muscles relaxed. The scented soaps and spices she'd added smelt heavenly, and relaxed her overworked brain. She'd been waiting all day for this, and she's damn well earned it.  
Laying there for several long minutes, Miri let her mind wander. She thought of her childhood, full of happy memories of her mother and father, and of her teenage years in the hive college. She thought of all her friends she'd met there, and in particular she thought of Derian. She smiled softly at his memory. She wondered if he still lived in the same place, and made a mental note to check. It would be nice to see him again.  
Focusing her thoughts on that young man she once knew, she let her eyes close and a groan of comfort filter through her lips.  
  
* * *  
  
Suddenly stirring from his fit of depression, the massive man jumped to his feet. He'd felt something, something he'd learned to suppress many years ago.  
Yes.you hear it too, don't you? You remember that calling, that calling you rejected all those years ago. You can't just stand here and do nothing.can you?  
His tear streaked eyes suddenly hardened in hatred, and every muscle in his body tensed. Sweat began running down his face from the exertion he put upon himself, trying to shut the voice out of his head.  
"Silence." he hissed. The voice boomed out in laughter, but despite its mirth it slowly faded into nothingness. Relaxing and letting his body sag, the huge man walked towards the door of his apartment.  
He would not do nothing, not while he had strength left in his body and soul.  
  
* * *  
  
There was a sharp rap on the door, which shook Miri out of her deep thoughts. Water splashed over the sides of the tub and onto the floor, and Miri cursed softly. Pulling herself out of the ceramic basin, she shivered as the cool and conditioned air of her apartment struck her naked skin. She made a quick mental note to raise the temperature next time she had a bath.  
Pulling on a simple white bathrobe, she tied the string and rearranged her hair quickly in the mirror.  
Who would be knocking on her door at this time of the morning? Someone important, she assumed, or someone with something important to give or tell her. Either way, it was best to try and look tidy.  
Giving up her hurried attempts in the mirror, she moved towards the door just as it was knocked upon again.  
"Coming!" she sang out, hurrying across the wooden floor and trying not to get everything wet. Hands moving swiftly, she unlocked the door and removed the latch. Putting on her most friendly smile, she opened the door.  
A fairly tall yet un-menacing man stood by the doorway, handsome in a modest fashion and possessing a certain air about himself that suggested a man that bore polite confidence and a sharp intellect.  
Miri couldn't suppress a massive wide mouthed expression of joy.  
"Derian!" she said softly, cheeks twitching madly with uncontrollable happiness, "you."  
"Yes, I've come back, Miri," the man said, smiling softly and sadly, "come back to make right things that should not have happened between us."  
"What do you mean?" Miri asked, confusion clouding her face. Derian's smile intensified, become warmer and more soothing.  
"For not admitting to you the things that I have felt in my heart for the longest time."  
Miri's face streaked with tears of joy, and before Derian could move she had her arms around him tightly.  
  
* * *  
  
He was now once more the Hunter, stalking through the hallways of this metal jungle. As silent as a gentle gush of wind and as swift as a Black Tiger, he avoided all the guards, checkpoints and cameras that protected the people of this great spire-city as if they were not there. He instinctively knew when to move, when to stay, where he was going. He was the Wildthing, and nothing could stop him.  
  
* * *  
  
Miri withdrew from Derian's warm, strong arms and smiled up at him. He smiled back, and she took him by the hands and led him into her apartment. He kicked the door closed with a resounding thud.  
  
* * *  
  
It was close now, he knew it. The voice told him so, but he didn't need the voice anymore. He could smell it, so strong and yet so subtle. He rounded another corner, and narrowly avoided a trio of people walking past by ducking into the shadows. Dawn had come, and the workers were rising and going to work.  
Damn, he had hoped he could finish this beforehand, but there was no choice now. He would have to be swift.  
Charging out of the shadows, he barged past the trio of workers and knocked one to the ground with a yelp. Angry shouts followed after him, and he knew that the local guards may soon be on his tail.  
Turning the next corner he saw the door in the distance, which suddenly slammed shut. Swallowing hard, Wild sprinted for the door as fast as his legs would carry him.  
  
* * *  
  
Laughing, Miri did a small leap in the air. Joy clouded her mind, making her dizzy and dull witted.  
Exactly what he wanted.  
Smiling grimly, Derian stepped towards her.  
She turned towards him, and was about to plant a kiss on his face when she stopped dead. Time slowed to a crawl, every tiny detail suddenly painfully clear.  
She saw the knife, the short and thin blade held in her old friend's hand. She saw the cold smile on his face. She saw the sudden glimmer of void in his eyes.  
Her mouth hung open and words began spilling out, muddled and incomprehensible pleas. The man merely continued to smile as the blade lashed out.  
  
* * *  
  
Time returned to normal with explosive force. The door, made of a hardened wood from some far off world, smashed off its hinges and collapsed on top of Derian. Pinned to the ground, he couldn't respond to the huge man looming behind him. Head gripped between massive paws, he twisted sharply.  
Wildthing stared down at the corpse and spat. The man was definitely dead, his head nigh ripped from his shoulders and his body impaled upon his own blade.  
Turning, he saw the girl. She too was totally white, a look of pure horror upon her fair face, stomach torn open and her bodily fluids adorning the floor. A tear formed in his eyes. He'd failed. She was dead.  
Falling to his knees, he began weeping once more.  
Marnier.Marnier.there was nothing you could have done to stop this.tragedy.  
The voice crowed at him, mocking his sorrow, making his defeat even more bitter to bare.  
But.  
Wild's weeping abated for a second. He looked up, his face red and tear streaked.  
"What?" he croaked, blood dripping down from his nose once more.  
The voice began laughing gleefully.  
Oh? So you'll listen now? Good.I hope you make it a habit, Marnier, for we shall be together for a very long time.  
"Can you make this right?" Wild demanded, fire returning to his heart, "can you bring her back, daemon?"  
No.but you can. Remember though, that everything has its price.  
"Anything." Wild whispered, "anything."  
The voice cackled madly.  
I ask for nothing, this time. Only believe in yourself, and unlock that which you have hidden. Remember the price, for it shall shape your destiny.  
"Silence," Wild demanded, and he was obeyed.  
Closing his eyes, he concentrated. The daemon's words burned in his mind, but he tries his best to ignore them and the feeling of utter dread that penetrated his soul. This was wrong.but the lesser of two evils.  
He placed his hands upon the dead woman's head, and focused on her. For several long seconds nothing happened. Then, suddenly, pain seared through his mind and jumped through his arms and into the woman. Fire, intense and near uncontrollable, ripped through his very being. Wildthing screamed in pure agony, but did not let go. He could not.  
His skin began to strain at the massive energies channelling through his body, and his bones seemed to rattle in their sockets. Spasming, foam discharged out of his mouth and blood streamed freely from his nose, ears and ears. Insane laughter loomed behind the agony.  
He couldn't stop. It was beyond his means to control. Far beyond his means.  
It ended, pure madness being replaced by pure white in a mere nano- second. His muscles gave out, and Wild collapsed onto the floor- vomit spewing out of his mouth and nose, mingling with the blood of three people.  
Just before he blacked out, two figures appeared in the corner of his eye. Advancing quickly, they were on Wild before he could even think of responding. A baton came crashing down on his skull, giving him a release from the pain.  
"Witchcraft," hissed one of them, glaring down at the massive man on the ground, "only one thing to do with scum like this." 


	2. Trial and Punishment

A black vessel moved into the system, a huge ship shaped much like a dagger- sleek and deadly. Hundreds of massive turrets adorned the hull, though they looked like tiny spines compared to the bulk to the four mile long warship. Massive cannons were arrayed at the prow and dorsal wings of the ship, and launch bays stretched the length of both sides. A trio of gargantuan torpedo tubes jutted out of the prow, able to launch torpedoes capable to destroying similar sized ships with a single salvo- or maybe even an even larger target, if the need was great.  
A trio of defence monitor ships- each less then half the size of the black vessel- moved to intercept, hail with demands for clearance codes. Return transmissions sated the squadron's questions, and they quickly withdrew from the massive warship.  
'The Iron Fist' swiftly travelled to the fourth planet, Tereskor Herbantius, and established high orbit around the polar caps, shadowed away from the star fort that protected the planet's surface. They did not want any undue attention.  
Within half an hour of settling into orbit, a single shuttle launched from the vessel's starboard launch bays. It swiftly dived into the planet's atmosphere, unnoticed by Imperial air traffic control, and landed five kilometres away from the capital city, Vastol.  
Sure that its cargo was safely upon the planet's surface, 'The Iron Fist' withdrew from orbit and back into the blackness of space.  
  
Chapter 2 – Trial and Punishment  
  
"That's him?"  
"Yes, sir."  
"Very well, hang him at noon."  
  
* * *  
  
Wildthing woke up violently, and screamed in agony. His head felt like it was caved in and pressing against his skull, and pain tore throughout his body. He felt like he'd been through hell and back, which wasn't far from the truth.  
Biting down on the pain, Wild managed to sit up without fainting. His eyes quickly adjusted to the gloom, but was hardly worth it. He was in a tiny room, maybe two meters by three, with a single ancient mattress as the only piece of comfort within its bounds. A single door lay at one end of the cell, and it looked tough enough to take a krak missile.  
None of these things really interested Wild. It was the faint feeling of nothingness that bothered him.  
He suddenly realised that he could no longer hear the voice in his head, but didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing. Maybe it was gone, suppressed, trapped. Or maybe it was hiding.  
Wild shivered at the thought, and started looking around the cell again. Nothing, nothing of interest or any possible means of escape.  
Sitting back against the wall, Wild stared at the metal door and let his mind vacate.  
  
* * *  
  
"There's no doubt about it, sir, that man is responsible for the death of one of our citizens. Cold blooded murder, and the use of witch-magiks to boot."  
"You have proof?"  
"Yes sir, we had one of our sanctioned psykers screen the whole area. He found psychic imprints all over the place, and all over the prisoner."  
The Marshall nodded, thoughtful.  
"The survivor?"  
"Still recovering in the infirmary. We won't be getting any statements for a while."  
"Then there's no doubt that the sentence dictated by the Arbitrator- Colonel shall be carried out."  
Lieutenant Herdish smiled. The Marshall was obviously pleased with his good work, since he was the one who had compiled all the information and presented it neatly for his review.  
"What of the off worlder's commanding officer?" the Marshall added, looking up from the data slate for half a moment.  
"He has not yet been told of his man's heresy, sir. The Arbitrator- Colonel decided that to do so may invoke the officer's wrath, and interfere with the proceedings."  
"Hmmm...yes, quite right. Quite right indeed. This Colonel...Rakash, I shall have a word with him after the execution. He needs to be told that he needs to keep an eye out for such things more vigilantly in the future. I understand they are without a Commissar at this moment in time?"  
"So it would seem, sir."  
"In that case, I shall assign one of my own to fill in for the time being. We can't have an army of undisciplined savages in our city."  
"As ever, you are one hundred percent correct, my lord Marshal," Herdish said, bowing ever so slightly. The old man grunted, as if the suggestion was nothing but the obvious truth.  
"You may go now, Mr Herdish."  
Saluting, Lieutenant Herdish left the Marshal's office.  
  
* * *  
  
"Where is he?"  
The prison guard didn't even blink as he stared directly back into Rakash's glare.  
"Whom are you enquiring about, sir?"  
Rakash gave the guard a sour smile, as if to say 'don't mess me around'. The guard didn't seem to notice, and to be fair to him Rakash knew that he probably didn't have a clue who he was trying to find.  
"One of my men, a large man with long hair. Has the name 'Wildthing' on his dog tags. He went missing earlier today, and I've been told there's been an incident in the building he was barracked in. Therefore it's likely he was involved, and thus taken into custody."  
"I'm afraid I wouldn't know about that, sir. You'll have to ask the Arbitrator-Colonel, and he's away on business at the moment."  
Rakash bit his lip with frustration. The person who he needed to see was always away.  
"Who's in charge now?"  
The guard took his eyes away from Rakash for the first time, and looked down the hallway. He pointed to the doorway on the end.  
"Through that door you'll find Day Captain Kierson. He's in charge until the Arbitrator-Colonel returns."  
"Thank you..." Rakash muttered, nodded curtly. The guard saluted politely and returned to attention. Rakash paused for a moment and then returned the salute loosely. He then walked down the hall towards the door he was directed towards.  
  
* * *  
  
There was a curt knock on the Marshall's office, and the rotund old officer looked up from his paperwork with an irritated expression on his face. He reached over the bundle of date slates and pressed the intercom button down.  
"Can this wait, Herdish?"  
"It's Colonel Rakash of the 27th Catachan to see you, sir," came the reply, as if it was a yes or no answer. Emperor forbid if I ever get this work finished he thought angrily.  
"Very well, send him in."  
The doors opened, and a trio of soldiers marched into the office- though the Marshall noted the middle man's marching was well below his standard of parade drill. The man saluted loosely, though his face told of how much he disliked the gesture.  
"Colonel Rakash, I presume?"  
"Aye," he grunted back, the flayed tissue of his left cheek twitching slightly. His hands were balled into fists, and slightly reddened. That's why Herdish assigned the two Honour Guards, the Marshall concluded. This barbarian wouldn't do anything to him, not if he knew what was good for him.  
"Well?" the Marshall asked tersely, "what do you want?"  
"One of my men is being held in your prison, I wish to see him."  
"Ah yes... Guardsman Wildthing..." the Marshall signed, showing distaste from using such a feral name. He shook his head slightly, but before he said anything more Rakash interrupted.  
"Gunnery Sergeant Wildthing, Marshall. I do not believe he should be detained without contact from his senior officers. There are rules against these things, rules that men like you devised if I am not mistaken..."  
"Mind your tongue!" barked one of the Honour Guards, a massive brute in segmented carapace armour. The power sword that hung from his belt didn't look much used, but Rakash wasn't about to under estimate him.  
"Major..." the Marshall soothed, "I'm sure our honoured guest didn't mean to sound as rude as he did. Nor did he mean to seem as feral and barbaric as he did when he assaulted Day Captain Kierson..."  
"He denied me access, so I reminded him of my rank," Rakash stated bluntly.  
"You broke his nose and his right cheekbone, or so the medical orderlies state in their report."  
"Lucky he didn't mess with someone else in my regiment then. I assure you they aren't as easy going as I am."  
The two Honour Guards tensed and gripped the hilts of their blades, ready to intervene if things got worse. Rakash merely smiled grimly at the Marshall. He knew he had more then a small chance of defeating all three of these men at once, if need be. He had nothing to be truly worried about, so he relaxed. Tended to scare people as a bi-product as well. The Marshall seemed unimpressed.  
"I to am a reasonable man," he replied with a hint of sarcasm, "that is why I am allowing a trial to be conducted. If the Arbitrators had their way he'd be hung, drawn and quartered by now- adorning the highest spires of this city."  
"Trial," scoffed Rakash, "well I hope fair justice is carried out."  
"It will be," the Marshall replied, choosing to ignore Rakash's tone, "the heretic will be found guilty and executed. How much fairer can justice get?"  
Rakash repressed the urge to bite the fat man's head off, and clenched his jaw tightly.  
Not if I have my way, he thought grimly.  
  
* * *  
  
The rooftop of tower 100 was full to bursting point, bar an island of calm that sat in the dead centre of the plaza that was built upon it.  
Tower 100, the tower of the Arbitrators.  
The crowds were roaring their anger, baying for blood. The Arbitrators were pushing them back from the centre of the plaza, where there was a platform built. A dozen or so men stood upon it, and a single high throne was placed in the centre. There sat the High Judge of Tereskor Herbantius, a towering man who was corded to the point of appearing to be built of flesh coloured machine parts. His black robes and silver chains of office made him appear extremely sinister, and his bald head made his face look sharp and hawkish. Two men stood on either side of his throne, the Arbitrator-Colonel of Vastol city, and Day Captain Kierson, whose face was heavily bandaged and revealing only his right eye. Both looked extremely upset when they saw Colonel Rakash enter the inner circle of the plaza and set onto the platform.  
"Identify yourself," snapped the High Judge, glaring down at Rakash.  
"Colonel Mikael Gaberial Rakash of the 27th Catachan Imperial Guard Regiment," he replied, locking eyes with the black clad giant. He nodded, and allowed Rakash to come closer.  
"I am Gunnery Sergeant Wildthing's defence council," Rakash stated. The Judge raised an eyebrow.  
"Is that so? Well, it is within your rights as his commanding officer, though I hardly see why such an officer as yourself would wish to discredit himself by siding with a tainted."  
Rakash smiled grimly, but said nothing.  
The crowds roaring reached a climax suddenly, and all those upon the platform turned to look. Someone was coming. An Arbitrator in black carapace armour stepped forwards and bowed slightly towards the judge, who nodded. The Arbitrator removed his helmet, revealing a rather boring face with a shaved head, and tucked it under his arm.  
"We bring forth the accused!" he bellowed, his voice cutting through the din like a foghorn cutting through mist, "Wildthing, Gunnery Sergeant, Catachan 27th, accused with Murder of the first degree and witchcraft!"  
The crowd booed and jeered, throwing objects at another figure being dragged through the masses. A pair of burly guards held each arm, though Rakash knew that Wildthing could kill both of them if he wanted to escape. It was the trio of Sanctioned Psykers that followed in his wake that held him in check.  
Wild was a mess- his hair ripped and torn with blood dripping over his face, bruises and cut covering his skin and a general taste of pain that men sometimes carried like an aura about them. Wild had suffered, and suffered more then the physical scars showed.  
"I see you followed code of conduct with military prisoners," Rakash hissed angrily to the pair of Arbitrator chiefs next to him. Kierson sneered in contempt.  
"We broke no rules. Scum like him have no rights."  
Petty man, thought Rakash. I punch you, you torture him. Justice will be paid, all in due time. He promised himself that for his and Wild's sakes.  
  
* * *  
  
The laughter was unbearable, but Wild could do nothing to stop it. He was too weak, and the three psyks behind him tripled that. There was nothing he could do bar listen.  
Such promise, wasted. Such things you and I could of done, if you but had a stronger will. The galaxy would of burned, spelling out your name to the Gods. All the knowledge in the Universe would have been within your grasp. All the truths known to you...  
"Lies..." Wild whispered, so quietly that none could of heard even if the crowds were not there. The laughter continued, yet the voice still managed to talk.  
You deny the truth that you know blind to be, hiding behind human ignorance. It is not the path you are destined to tread, and you know it. You know it in your soul, Marnier...  
"No..."  
Humans are weak, and so are you. Until you embrace the truth, you are no better then any of them. Even those pets behind us, they are nothing. Compared to what you and I can be, together, they are ants waiting to be crushed beneath our heel. This world will burn, as will all others. You know the truth, open your eyes...  
Wildthing scrunched his eyes up in defiance, yet it only seemed to fuel the voice's laughter.  
  
* * *  
  
Noon was approaching fast, and the air temperature soared. The force field that protected the roof from the outside world darkened to compensate but still the temperature was oppressive. No-one seemed to notice, such was their zeal to see the witch brought to justice.  
The accused was thrown to the ground before the High Judge's throne and the Arbitrators stood in a circle around his prone and restrained form, the psykers hanging back slightly and murmuring to themselves.  
"You are the accused, Wildthing, are you not?" the High Judge demanded, beginning the trial. He got no answer from Wildthing, despite a flurry of savage kicks to the ribs to try and stir him. The High Judge scowled and instead turned to Rakash. "He is your man, correct?"  
Rakash nodded stiffly.  
"I request he be allowed to stand to face his charges honourably."  
"Denied. The risk is too great. Arbitrator-Colonel Erinstein, bring forth the evidence for my review."  
The Arbitrator-Colonel nodded and moved to a small metal table that was placed nearby. He was a fairly unimpressive man, average height and build and plain faced. Rakash guessed that was why he made such a good Arbitrator, the ability to blend in. He picked up a clear plastic bag and returned to pass it up to the High Judge.  
"Exhibit A, a bloodied knife. Four inches long, single sided blade. Blood analyzed, coated in the blood of one Derian Gervetti and the blood of one Niri Heslin."  
The High Judge looked at the knife for a few moments, before placing it down on the desk before him.  
"The fates of those two individuals?" he asked absently.  
"Gervetti is dead, in the morgue. Heslin is in intensive care, recovering from trauma."  
"So no statements from either of them," the High Judge stated dryly. "Very well, anything else? Fingerprints?"  
"None, High Judge."  
"Very well, next exhibit then please."  
  
* * *  
  
A hooded and cloaked figure stood in the crowds, watching the trial with a mixture of interest and anticipation. Tall and slender, the figure radiated a feeling of power that those nearby were eager to move away from. A small island set the figure apart from everyone else, and quiet slowly took hold of the crowd as they sensed the feeling of malice that was spreading through the air.  
One of the psykers sniffed at the air suddenly, as if sensing the new threat. In turn both his companions became alert, though none knew what or where this feeling of fear came from. The cloaked figure cursed softly, and made an effort to mask the psychic aura. Though the trio of psykers seemed to relax a little, the figure knew that they were on the lookout.  
The time was near, and everyone was in place. All that was left was to wait for the perfect time.  
  
* * *  
  
"Enough."  
The High Judge slammed his metal hammer down upon the metal plate upon his desk, throwing up sparks. The crowd was utterly quiet. All the assembled prosecution stood to attention, awaiting his sentence. Only one man, Wild's only defence, did not.  
"Enough? What about Wild's defence?" Rakash snarled lowly.  
"The evidence is clear to me, as is the Emperor's Will," the High Judge retorted coldly, "there shall be no defence, no delaying justice. Do you wish to side with the heretic?"  
Rakash grimaced so hard that he bit into his lip with his teeth and drew blood. His muscles tensed and adrenaline began to pump. His fingers twitched, and his mind wandered to the hidden sheath down his back. He wasn't going to sit by and watch his man go down without even a fair trial, but then he reminded himself that violence wasn't always the best answer. He might be able to kill all those on the platform, but the whole Arbites Precinct? No, that would just leave this city with less defences, and his own regiment without its commanding officer. He loosened slightly, and forced a smile.  
He didn't have a clue what to do next.  
  
* * *  
  
The figure smiled grimly. Rakash, after all these years, there he was. Of course it was known that his mob was here on Tereskor Herbantius, but it was still quite a sight seeing him in person. Still as ugly as ever, the cloaked figure mused with a low chuckle, but that's to be expected from such a man.  
The time was very close now, and the figure started to push through the crowds towards the platform. No-one seemed to want to get in the way, and rightly so. The aura of discomfort dissuaded any from getting too near. The trio of psykers seemed to pick it up again, and all looked directly at the figure- looks of fear upon their faces. They knew what were approaching, and the thought of it chilled their hearts. 


	3. Uncloaked

The figure strode out from the crowd, not needing to push aside or sidestep anyone as there was a sudden serge of panic among the assembled civilians. There was a masses stampede to get as far away as possible from the black robed intruder, and wails of terror filled the air.  
Shocked Arbitrators, ones who had managed to hold their ground and not flee like the civilians, raised their shotguns and screamed out orders to halt. Without braking stride the figure waved a hand at them, tearing their weapons from their hands and crumpling them in mid air with an invisible force. The Arbitrators now in turn fled, despair and terror getting the better of their training and fortitude.  
The three psykers, momentarily stunned, managed to snap out of their stupor and throw up a psychic shield around the platform. A hazy bubble of electricity encased them and the others upon the platform, protecting them from farther attacks.  
Or so they believed.  
The figure stopped at the threshold of the bubble and looked it up and down, as if deciding what to do. Taking the moment of respite, the others upon the platform drew weapons and started calling for assistance on their comm-links. The figure stopped studying the bubble and looked up at them each in turn, smiling as if a joke had been told and no-one else understood it.  
I wouldn't bother.  
The three psykers mouths' dropped open in shock, realising their shield was nothing compared to the power of this being. Each of the officers in turn swore as he realised communications were down and useless. Rakash was the only one who seemed in the slightest bit calm, as opposed to the High Judge who was cowering in his throne- powerless and trapped.  
"Looks like we're outmatched," Rakash stated with a sad smile, "I wouldn't even bother trying to fight."  
The others then noticed he hadn't even moved an inch or drawn any weapon.  
"Are you mad?" bellowed Erinstein, red faced and face streaked with sweat and tears, power maul held in his left hand and a heavy duty auto snub in the right.  
"No, I just have a measure of common sense," Rakash replied with a hint of mirth. He looked down at Wild, who seemed to be convulsing in agony. Fighting a battle from the inside, perhaps? Rakash knelt down beside him, but did not touch him. "Justice is coming," he whispered to him. Wild's spasms seemed to abate a little, though Rakash couldn't be sure if that was a good or a bad thing.  
The figure, decided, merely stepped through the barrier as if it was a fountain of water. Panicking, one of the three psykers conjured up a fireball and threw it at the robed figure- only for it to be caught in mid air and extinguished by the unseen force. Nearly as one, all three of them fainted and collapsed to the ground like puppets with cut strings.  
Erinstein, Kierson and the squad of Arbitrator Elite who stood with them all opened fire upon the figure. Snub bullets and scatter shells struck the figure repeatedly, shaking it around and tearing shreds off the cloak, and the figure seemed like it was going to fall to the ground and die. All rounds expended, firing ceased and each of the Arbitrators peered through the cloud of gun smoke their weapons had created.  
There stood the figure still, robes tattered and ruined, but still fully intact beneath. Raising one hand, there was a slight pop of pressure in the air and all eleven of them passed out and fell to the ground with a thud of finality.  
Rakash at the figure locked eyes, as if passing words between themselves through the air.  
"Rakash? Colonel?" whimpered the High Judge from atop his throne, "what is this madness?"  
Rakash blinked and smiled. Looking up to the High Judge, he merely gave a satisfied and admittedly smug expression. The robed figure nodded, and then threw off the black robes.  
What he saw was so much worse then what he imagined.  
  
Chapter 3 – Uncloaked  
  
Sweat poured freely down his face, mingling with tears of pure terror and fatigue. It had been twelve hours since the unrobed figure had taken the High Judge away. Twelve hours of questioning, probing and interrogation. And he was old, at least two hundred years old- though there had been some surgery involved to keep him healthy. Still, there was so much a man could take- and his limits were being sorely pressed. Sat on the cold floor and against the wall, he was not restrained in any way over then by the aura of malice that told him if he moved he would sorely regret it.  
The stranger was huge, nearly seven foot tall and broad shouldered. Though still nothing compared to Wildthing, this man oozed fear like a strong cologne. His face was craggy and grim, with a heavy jaw and high brow. His short cropped hair was blazing red and orange, as if dyed to appear like flames. Maybe it wasn't even dyed? It was hard to tell in the poor light, but it seemed natural- though in a very unnatural manner. His eyes were a light brown, though they too seemed to burn with in inner flame. Every now and again it seemed that they too were red, though it was possibly just his imagination. He wore a simple grey robe, with the torso armoured with a solid carapace breastplate with a large I engraved upon the front. A small flamer was mounted upon his left shoulder with a mind control unit linking it to his skull, and a large sword was sheathed at his right hip. A bolt pistol was holstered at his left hip.  
There was at last a respite from the questions, and the man withdrew from the cell. For a while at least. The High Judge took the chance to have a look around at the man's companions, of which there were three that he could see, who stood in the cell with him talking amongst themselves- but obviously keeping an eye on him at the same time.  
One was a short man, slight of build and frankly rather bony. Despite that he looked slick and clean, and maybe even handsome in a weaselly sort of way. Maybe thirty years standard, not counting any treatment he may have had. He had short and gelled back brown hair, slightly stubbly chin and cheeked and narrow sly brown eyes that darted all around the room. His clothes looked worn but expensive, loose brown trousers and a leather jacket. His boots were equally worn yet highly expensive. There were a few pieces of makeshift armour plates strapped onto various parts of his body by leather straps, which also housed spare ammo clips. He carried a pair of short barrelled auto pistols with drum mags in loose holsters on his belt. The man looked every bit a hired gunslinger or bounty hunter.  
The next was a tall and gangly man with troll-like features. He was extremely thin and fragile looking, let limber and toned. The High Judge didn't doubt for a moment that he was a lot stronger then he guessed at first glance. He was the muscle of the trio. That was about it though, he mused, as he looked very primitive and stupid. Age was impossible to tell. His face was flat- his nose broken, his jaw jutting out and scars adorning nearly every part of his face. Ritual scars by the looks of them. His eyes were close together and squinted. His hair was long and unruly, stained brown by blood from the smell of it. Red tattoos adorned his face, arms and chest that were all bare skinned. He wore a pair of standard administratium issue combat fatigues, brown stained and torn up almost beyond recognition. His feet were bare and covered in muck. He carried a standard issue laspistol at his right hip and held a wickedly sharp looking glaive in his left hand, pole down and rested against the ground. He had several backup blades adorning his belt as well. A primitive warrior from some backwater world. The High Judge was surprised he even carried such a basic weapon as a laspistol. The third and final companion was a tall woman, maybe twenty years old. She wore very basic brown robes and had her long brown hair down over her shoulders and back. Though very modest looking, she still struck the High Priest the most. There was something about her that made him keep looking at her, something that made him feel extremely uneasy. She glanced at him, an angry tint in her deep brown eyes, causing him to shudder and look away. When he was sure she had turned away from him again, he took another quick glance. Despite her modesty, that girl was striking. Maybe even beautiful, if she but tried. Her skin was soft and white, and her features delicate. He was sure he could see a hint of her curves under the robes. He did not doubt that she was any less deadly then either of her companions, if not much more so. She carried a long staff that carried no ornament bar a single line of silver that ran from end to end, and as she rested it upon the ground it was over her six feet of height in length. The way her nimble fingers gripped it displayed her proficiency with it. She also carried a short sword at her left hip, nothing special looking about it. She didn't appear to carry a firearm at all.  
The robed giant returned, an even grimmer look on his face. Glancing at the High Judge, he nearly snarled in contempt. The robed woman gave him a questioning look, and there was a pause as the two of them locked eyes.  
"Well, I wondered how long it would take," the woman stated flatly, masking her own anger a lot better then her senior.  
"Our time with the High Judge has run out," he spat out for the benefit of the other two, "we must hand him back over to the Adeptus Arbites or declare charges. Charges that we have no true evidence to back up."  
"So that's it then?" the short gunslinger asked, "we just hand him back over?"  
"That's what I just said," the giant replied with a hint of malice, "though I hoped for more, we at least have ruled out one possibility..."  
He then turned to the High Judge and offered his hand down towards him. Gripping it, he was pulled to his feet.  
"You have been found pure of heresy, though your reliance on politics rather then evidence is most disturbing. I pray you mend your ways in the future, for everyone's sake."  
The High Judge, though insulted by this man, merely nodded. He was too tired and achy for anything more. The tall gangly man walked up and gripped him by the elbow, his fingers vice like in their strength.  
"This way," he grunted, his accent appallingly strong and brutal. He gestured towards the doorway, and half lead and half dragged the High Priest from the cell.  
Questions burned through his head, such as who these people were and why they had detained him. Who could have the power to do such things?  
The High Judge knew better then to ask.  
  
* * *  
  
"Lord Marshall, our esteemed visitor has arrived."  
The Marshall looked up from his paperwork and noted the look of fear upon Herdish's face. Bracing himself, and making sure that the guards hidden behind the secret doors dotted around the office were ready and in place with a quick vox-query, he nodded back to his aide to allow entrance.  
The massive man strode into the room, nearly bowling Herdish off his feet as he scampered out of the way, and the room seemed to darken and shrink in his presence. His face nigh unreadable bar for a faint frown, he glanced around the room quickly before locking eyes with the Marshall. Fidgeting comfortably, the Marshall realised he'd stared directly at each and every secret door in the room.  
"Marshall D'Ladvair," the man addressed the Marshall with a slight tone of distaste. The Marshall smiled, either not noticing the distaste or wisely choosing to ignore it.  
"Indeed I am, my lord, I am honoured by your presence. Would you honour me farther with your title and name, so I am better able to address you?"  
Smiling thinly, the giant laughed darkly on the inside. The fool did not know who he even worked for yet, and still he could smell his fear as plainly as he could smell the sweat his deodorant didn't quite mask.  
His badge of office hit the desk with a thud.  
"I am Wilhelm von Hiest of the Ordo Malleus, Imperial Inquisition."  
If the Marshall was scared before, now he was close to passing out from terror. He couldn't even talk, though for now talking wasn't necessary. Only complete and utter understanding.  
Von Hiest sat down at the Marshall's desk and began his questioning, but not before he heard the faint thud of each and every guard hidden in the walls hitting the floor.  
"You and I have business to discuss, Lord Marshall..." 


End file.
